


Wylla and the Widow

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Series: 2016 Christmas Fics [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: An ambassador of sorts in the southron court on Dragonstone, Wylla is terribly bored - until she finds someone just as out of place as she feels herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tywinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tywinning/gifts).



> For [Ash,](http://karenvoss.tumblr.com) via me, from [Lauren.](http://joannalannister.tumblr.com)

“I have a great liking for pie, ser,” Wylla says, unsure of the identity of this newest suitor, and uncaring. There have been a great many since she arrived on Dragonstone, courting her family’s wealth and their influence over the boy-King in Winterfell. 

Wylla herself has little influence over the King, and it is Wynafryd to whom their father listens, not Wylla, but she does not say that to her would-be husbands. 

“Pie,” he says, the lace on his cuffs almost dripping into his plate. “A rather… Rustic delicacy, for so fine a table as surely your father keeps.”

“My father keeps a table befitting a House of the North,” Wylla says. “Any man who does otherwise above the Neck is a fool, ser.”

Ser Who’s-It of Where’s-It flushes puce from collar to hairline, and Wylla hopes there is no one of great importance watching. She has already been reprimanded for her unkindness to more than one man close to the Crown, and she has no desire to repeat the experience - bad enough that she must suffer the rigidity of this blasted court without also being treated as a rowdy child for making what little fun she can.

“I am sure, my lady,” he says, with a toss of his fair hair. “Do excuse me.”

She salutes him with her cup as he departs, and forces herself not to laugh. Ladies, as she has been reminded, do not  _ laugh. _

She misses her grandfather more than ever, now that she is away from even what freedoms her father allows. 

She rises herself, set on walking the great hall and then making her excuses, when something catches her eye.

There, alone - the Widow. 

No one speaks to her, or even very much of her, as if she is a curse, but Wylla has no room for such silly superstition. They’ve had creatures of ice and creatures of fire, and a pretty woman who was pushed from one husband to the next is nothing in comparison.

“Lady Margaery,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind…?”

Lady Margaery, with burn scars painted up her throat and jaw and cheek, miraculously missing those golden eyes, smiles.

“Lady Wylla,” she says in return, tipping her head so that her lovely hair spills over her burned shoulder. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I have heard so many stories.”

Wylla no longer cares what stories are told of her, and senses that Melancholy Margaery feels the same - so she swings her braids over her shoulder, shockingly green against her sensible pale blue gown, and settles comfortably at Margaery’s side. 

“The King,” Margaery says, “has taken a fancy to my cousin, Desmera, and it has been decided that I should remain to coach her - else I would be long gone home, and we would have missed our chance for friendship.”

So that is the pretty lady with the bright red hair, then - a Redwyne, and soon a King’s mistress. Such women have never had happy lives, but it would not do to say so.

“I hope to coach her far away from him,” Lady Margaery says, her sweet smile souring, and Wylla feels something of herself in Margaery’s pain. “He is not pretty enough to be worth the scandal.”

Perhaps, Wylla thinks, being here at court is not so bad as she thought it was.

 


End file.
